ll blood-guiltiness." And he dropped the Word upon
Karen's breast, and held up his hands in the sight of heaven and men.

"You lie!" screamed Matilda.

"God is my judge, not you," answered Liot.

"It is the word of Liot Borson. Who believes it?" asked the minister.
"Let those who do so take the hands he declares guiltless of blood."
And the minister clasped Liot's hands as he spoke the words, and then
stepped aside to allow others to follow him. And there was not one
man or woman present who did not thus openly testify to their
belief in Liot's innocence. Matilda mocked them as they did so with
output tongue and scornful laughs; but no one interfered until the
minister said:

"Mistress Sabiston, you must now hold your peace forever."

"I will not. I will--"

"It is your word against Liot's, and your word is not believed."

Then the angry woman fell into a great rage, and railed on every one
so passionately that for a few moments she carried all before her.
Some of the company stood up round the coffin, as if to defend the
dead; and the minister looked at Grimm and Twatt, two big fishermen,
and said, "Mistress Sabiston is beside herself; take her civilly
to her home." And they drew her arms within their own, and so led
her storming out into the storm.

Liot had the better of his enemy, but he felt no sense of victory.
He did not even see the manner of her noisy exit, for he stood in
angry despair, looking down at the calm face of his dead wife.
Then the door shut out the turmoil, and the solemn voice of the
minister called peace into the disquieted, woeful room. Liot was
insensible to the change. His whole soul was insurgent; he was ready
to accuse heaven and earth of unutterable cruelty to him. Strong
as his physical nature was, at this hour it was almost impotent. His
feet felt too heavy to move; he saw, and he saw not; and the words
that were spoken were only a chaos of sounds.

Andrew Vedder and Hal Skager took his right arm and his left, and
led him to his place in the funeral procession. It was only a
small one. Those not closely connected with the Borsons went to
their homes after the service; for, besides the storm, the hour
was late and the night closing in. It seemed as if nature showed her
antagonism to poor Karen even to the last scene of her mortal drama;
for the tide flowed late, and a Shetlander can only be buried
with the flowing tide. The failing light, however, was but a part of
the great tr